there is nothing tender about San Francisco’s Tenderloin section
Queens, drug dealers, pimps, prostitutes,
bar room philosophers, and ex- servicemen
eyeballing Vietnamese women selling cheap flowers
in the city of perversion and broken dreams
within the sanitized city by the Bay.

the only time I feel safe is after a few beers
temporarily shut out
the muffled screams outside
and the rancid smell of vomit and dog shit
on the street.

the pink and peach interior at “Aunt Charlies”
matches the pink tank top
tight yellow mini skirt
and pink platform shoes
of the aging prostitute
who tells me blow jobs are a $50 date
and golden showers are a $75 date.

I politely beg off saying I have to go home
but not before she hustles me for
homemade soup and crackers at “Soups”
as I get up to leave, Ling Po gets a refill
and I get an earful from the guy next to me:
“ You’re not from here, are you?
That broad is a transvestite.”